


Progeny

by malchanceux



Series: Darwinism [1]
Category: Blood+
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Blood Drinking, Blood and Gore, Canon-Typical Violence, Canonical Character Death, F/M, Kidnapping, Red Shield, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-18
Updated: 2017-11-18
Packaged: 2019-02-01 14:50:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,199
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12707154
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/malchanceux/pseuds/malchanceux
Summary: When Saya awakens from the crypt, it is not just George Miyagusuku who greets her.





	Progeny

 

 

 

**December 27th, 1972**

 

A balding man in a rumpled suit sat tall at the head of a long table. Around him the deciding counsel of Red Shield shared his disarray. It had been a long few days--it had been a long, _long_ war. All of them were exhausted, all of them had been either in their offices or relaying to the field for hours on end. Many had not had a chance to rest and go home in days.

“We made a desperate decision in a desperate situation,” the man muttered with no sign of remorse or regret. The air was tense amongst the group.

“How could we have known the outcome?” another speaks up in agreement, desperate to clear all guilt from their person.

“They warned us,” a solemn whisper spoke then; a woman at the very end of the table. “They told us nothing good would come from waking her.”

No one speaks for a long time. In front of each member a thick folder of casualties, both military and civilian, laid haunting and damning on top the cold mahogany table.

In the end, they push their failure aside and focus not on how many human lives were lost, but how many chiropteran’s were slain in a single evening. The number double what their general military was capable of, and soon the tone of the counsel turns from guilt-ridden to confident.

In the end they had taken a calculated risk in forcing their weapon out of hibernation and received mixed results. They knew better for the future. Vietnam was marked down as a bloody and hard-won success.

 

 

 

**December 31st, 1972**

 

Fireworks flashed across the sky, explosions of bright colors painting the night. Diva’s breath curled in the frosted air. It was her last night awake before her next hibernation, she could feel it. A bone deep weariness had settled upon her.

Diva pretended for a moment the New Year’s show was just for her. A final _goodbye_ from all the fussy humans that infested the world.

“Diva,” Amshel hummed from beside her. He brought a hand to her back, his warmth seeping through her new dress like a brand. The young Queen scowled and pulled away from the touch. She didn’t like when others touched her so casually. Even her chevaliers. Maybe especially them.

It reminded her too much of her time as a _animal_ at the _Zoo_.

Amshel frowned, but did not comment. He knew his place.

“You said you wanted to view the fireworks from the Eiffel Tower. Was it all you had hoped for?”

“It’s fine,” Diva said blithely.

“Something is bothering you.”

Amshel _did_ always know her best.

“It’s not fair,” Diva said, face suddenly contorting into a sneer. “I hate all the fighting.”

“You mean with Saya?”

“Why should _she_ fight for _them?_ After everything at the Zoo.”

“You were raised apart. Given different ideals,” Amshel explained, surprised. Diva had never given any indication the fight between them and Red Shield bothered her beyond the cost of her many chiropteran losses. “You were raised as a controlled experiment, while Saya was kept as an adopted daughter.”

“A _pet,_ ” Diva hissed. “They _stole_ her from me.”

They stood in a tense silence. Diva’s nature had always been more primal. It was not unusual for her moods to be fluid and intense, this Amshal was used to. But the possessiveness and aggression was usually reserved for her chevaliers. For a moment, he worried Diva’s mercurial focus would collide and crumble his carefully laid plans for Red Shield.

“I want her,” Diva says finally, voice curt, words curling crisp in the winter air. She turns her gaze to Amshel, her eldest. Pinned him with a demanding glare. “When I wake up.”

“That may prove challenging,” Amshel said carefully, unsure if Diva would lash out.

“You’ll figure it out,” Diva waved his concerns off easily, turning her focus back to the fireworks. Tension melted from her small form, her carefree, child-like demeanor returning. Amshel did not share in Diva’s amusement, nor her confidence in finding and holding Saya. He did not word his concerns, however, aware that for his Queen her desire were not requests, but demands.

As her chevalier, it was his duty to fulfil even the smallest of Diva’s whims.

 

 

**April 8th, 2002**

 

“The storm is getting pretty bad,” dull, brown eyes peered skeptically at the fine suit of the taxi drivers current passenger. “Are you sure you don’t want to turn around and come back later? It’s not going anywhere.”

Solomon Goldsmith looked out his window, through the fogging glass of the cab and up at the seemingly endless stone stairway leading to the Miyagusuku Shrine. Despite the heat of spring, the rain was sure to be frigid. As tempting as sparing his suit the weather was, the chevalier felt a pressing need to climb the stone pathway and reveal the creature at its peak.

“No time like the present,” Solomon said distractedly, his normally personable facade monotonous and strained. He reached into his breast pocket for several bills and passed them to the driver without counting.

“Keep the change,” Solomon grabbed the umbrella from the cabs floor, opening it as soon as he exited the vehicle. The breeze was light. There was a chance the suit wouldn’t need to go to the cleaners once this was over, after all.

Solomon took the stairs leisurely, in spite of the pull he felt grow stronger with every step. No creature save Diva had ever inspired such a feeling before, an instinct to unveil and be close. The chevalier wasn’t sure how he felt about it, the yearning that burned for what in all intents and purposes was an enemy.

Solomon can sense he is not alone at the Shrine before he’s even halfway up. As a chiropteran his nose was much stronger than it had been as a human, and a distinct scent was wafting down with the gentle spring breeze.

 _Amshel._ His older brother had beaten him to the top. A small smile curled his lips, the familiarity of it all settling the unease the younger chivallier had been feeling before.

“Brother,” Solomon greeted once he had reached the top.

Amshel stood with his back to him, facing the sealed door to the grave that held Saya’s cocoon. It had taken a very, very long time to track her down. A lot of blood had spilled, a lot of their resources devoured. It had been worth it, to find the long lost sister Diva had made their priority before slipping into her own hibernation. This was the fruition of all their hard work.

“Do you feel it, Solomon?” Amshel asked. “The pull being near a rival Queen creates.”

“I do, brother. Though I am not sure I understand it.”

“That is only natural. You were never exposed to Saya before, not at any close proximity as this,” Amshel finally turned to face his brother. “Do not feel alarmed, it is only right for us to be drawn in. Saya is our only viable mate. As any species, beneath our duty to serve Diva is our biological need to procreate.”

Solomon was taken aback by his brother’s bluntness on such a matter.

“I suppose you are right,” the science of it made perfect sense, but for it to be thrown out with such little thought.

No, that wasn’t right. Amshel never spoke carelessly. This is something he had been contemplating for a long while, and was just now allowing Solomon to peek behind the curtain that was his elder brother’s thoughts. Solomon thought to prod Amshel further on the subject, but knew from experience that his elder brother would not give much more than breadcrumbs unless he deemed it pertinent for Solomon to know more.

“Will we take her now?” he asked instead.

“No, I think not. Saya will be waking soon from her hibernation, but right now her cocoon is as thick as ever. It would be cumbersome to break her free from the stone, and more so to remove her safely from this place. Red Shield is watching, I am assuming you saw their men?”

“Yes, I did. Though I made sure none of them saw me.”

“Let’s keep it that way. We will take her when she emerges from her hibernation. After 30 years of sleep she will be too weak to fight us on her own.”

A solid plan for an extraction. Let the humans keep Saya safe until it was viable to move her.

“And where will we keep her? I know both you and James have been planning, but I have yet to hear any decisiveness.”

Amshell hummed in thought. “We had a disagreement of where would be best, but we have come to an understanding. In her state she will be weak, but we must remember Saya is still a _Queen._ We will need to isolate her quickly. Nathan procured a place in Sweden that will do just fine for now.”

“Might I ask where?”

“He owns an estate there in the north,” Amshel smirked, amused. “He said it was once a tulip farm and that the scenery would help with Saya’s disposition.”

 _Disposition_ to kill their Queen, Diva. It sounded like Nathan’s usual teasing, though knew nothing of the sort would curb Saya’s bloodlust. Solomon was not convinced _anything_ could bridge the hatred that held both Queen’s in arms against each other.

“I am appointing you as Saya’s main caretaker.”

That brought Solomon up short. He had thought, with how controlling his brother could be, and the rapport he and the rival Queen already had, that Amshel would take lead in this endeavour; Diva’s newest _want._ Why him?

“I am not sure I understand, brother. Would you not be the better choice? Or even Nathan, if it is his estate.”

“Nathan has made it clear that he has no interest in Saya,” Amshel turned away from Solomon again, walking again to the tomb. He placed a hand over the stone lid, cold and unmoving. Saya’s draw even stronger when closer to its source.

“With something this delicate, I need someone who will put every effort in making this a success. As for myself, I have far too many projects coming to a head. And I will admit, I too am jaded on this matter. I have found Saya as Diva so wished, and we will make our attempts to subdue the girl until our Queen awakens and decides what to do with her older sister. But that is where my interests end.”

“And me?” Could Amshel truly believe _any_ of Diva’s chevalier’s would be able to handle this _delicate_ matter, when Saya’s only interests seemed to be killing their progenitor.

“You, Solomon, have always been the fairer man. You showed it in your short life as a human, and continue to do so as a chiropteran. You have always chosen the path of lesser violence. That will not change now.”

Solomon wanted to argue the point, but as usual he could not fault in his brother’s words. Amshel was not wrong, though the chevalier did wonder how far his passive nature would go in this particular situation.

“As you wish, brother.”

“Good,” Amshel took his hand back from stone and turned to leave back down the endless stairs Solomon had climbed not long before. “There will be a private plane and crew on standby until she awakens. We can calculate her awakening, but not predict it with absolute precision; nor can we sense it like we can with Diva. But Hagi has been sighted in Japan by Red Shield. This is the best we will be able to do for now.”

Solomon stayed rooted to the spot, even after his brother left. His eyes could not leave the lid of the grave Saya had been sealed away in. His entire body was being coaxed nearer, but he denied it. The feeling was not overwhelming, just a pleasant, _needy_ pull.

_“Saya is our only viable mate.”_

Amshel’s words rang true and disruptive. To their knowledge, there was none other of their kind in the entire world. No other Queens, and beside Hagi, no other chivalier.

Solomon remembered the ideal of a nuclear family before Diva had turned him. Like any proper Frenchman in the early 1900’s, Solomon had carried around the need to form his own family and carry on his legacy. But with the wars and his time as a military doctor, that ideal had never found supple soil to take root. As a chiropteran the need for a family had withered, as no amount of sex could ever form a child with Diva and her own chevalier, and no attraction with Saya had ever before been nurtured or encouraged. How could any of them see Saya in that light, when the rival Queen wished only for their respective deaths?

Solomon did not know how long he stood there at the top of Miyagusuku Shrine, but by the time he made his way back down the steps the rain had stopped and his suit was completely soaked through.

 

 

 

**April 22nd, 2002**

 

Every day Solomon visits Saya’s resting place, vigilant for when she would wake. As a chiropteran it was not difficult to slip past the ever watchful Red Shield. Shapeshifting was one of their more difficult and tiring talents, but it suited Solomon’s purposes perfectly. His person-suit kept him hidden from the humans, and his nose was the only warning system he needed to avoid the rival Queen’s only chevalier if he were to ever make his presence known.

Oddly, this is never an issue. Not once does Solomon even pick up a faint scent of Hagi. No sign the chiropteran servant had come to the Shrine even as Saya’s waking drew closer.

Despite seeing such behavior for years, it was a foreign concept to trust a Queen’s wellbeing in the hands of humans. Hagi and Saya’s strange upbringing brought about a false camaraderie between the two species. It was unnatural.

It was raining again, another light spring drizzle, as Solomon made his way up the stairs to the Miyagusuku Shrine. It had been a couple of weeks since his first homage and his conversation with his elder brother, and for all intent and purposes nothing had changed. There was no sign that Saya was any closer to awakening, her scent still dim to his senses; her heart beat barely audible to his enhanced hearing. Saya’s metabolism was as sluggish and unresponsive as it would have been fifteen years ago, at the peak of her hibernation.

Solomon had expressed concerns to Amshel about this: with the forced awakening in Vietnam, it was possible she would not wake in her normal schedule. The experiment had been unprecedented. The humans had already paid their price for their involvement in disrupting her sleep, their hands stained with the blood of their fallen soldiers she had turned on.

Perhaps Saya was destined to pay for their mistakes as well.

Nearing the top of the stairs, Solomon stilled. Through the rain he could sense another presence, the distinct scent of a nervous sweat and cheap cologne: a human male was already at the shrine. Solomon closed his eyes, focused on the world around him. He sifted through the myriad of sound: the patter of rain against the thick foliage about him, fat droplets plummeting and smacking against cold stone bricks. He isolated the sound of traffic and discarded it; honed in on the gentle birdsong and quieted it. Beneath it all was a heartbeat. No, _two_ heartbeats. One flighty and frightened, the other slow, but strong. Aware but unaffected by whatever spooked the other.

With the stinging musk of sour sweat, Solomon would say the startled individual was the human male. As for the second presence, Solomon took a deep breath, trying to better process what he was smelling through the heavy rain.

Chiropteran. That was the other presence. But it was not a chevalier. No, this scent was much more potent.

 _Saya_.

Solomon let his umbrella fall to the ground, uncaring as he used his superior speed to race to the top of the steps. The scene laid out before the chevalier is not what he expects. The heavy stone lid of Saya’s grave lays cracked in half on the ground from where it had fallen, tendrils of the Queen’s cocoon still caught about its frame. Said Queen sits beside it, long, dark hair clinging to her soaked and naked body. Her heart beats a leisure rhythm as she stares down the barrel of a gun.

The human is shaking with fear, soaked through as Saya is, his own umbrella lying forgotten beside him. Though he quakes like a hare, his aim is true. This man is trained with firearms, and with Saya having just awoken, he poses a serious threat to Solomon’s charge.

“Put the gun down,” the chevalier speaks calmly, but all the same the man startles. He had not heard Solomon approach.

“Stop! Don’t move!” the human yells, turning his gun on the chevalier. He steps away from both chiropteran, trying to position them both in his crosshairs. _A military man_ , Solomon decides, and wonders where the rest of Red Shield is, and why the sudden hostility toward their _weapon._

For her part, Saya does not move. She looks between the two--the human and the chevalier--with an expression of incomprehension. Her eyes are dim, not glowing with the brilliant gleam of a predator like Diva when she first wakes. Surely Saya must be starving after her hibernation. Was this what captivity did to their kind? Was Saya’s impassive behavior that of a domesticated chiropteran?

“Who the hell are you?” the human demanded. Solomon’s only answer was to shift his hand into a blade, letting a small fragment of his true form take shape.

“Damn it, you’re one of _them,”_ As comprehension of the situation comes, the human again focuses his gun onto Saya. Definitely Red Shield, Solomon decides. He know who he posed a greater threat to. Knows he would not stand a chance gunning down a chevalier.

In a flash, Solomon is on him. The human grunts in surprise, eyes wide in disbelief. He looks down and sees Solomon’s arm going right through his ribcage. The chevalier rips his hand back, the human falling to the ground in a heap. His gun still held in a white-knuckled grip of a dying man, however useless it had been. The human should have known better.

Solomon turns his attention back to Saya. She has not moved an inch. She stares at the human’s corpse, eyes focused but face blank. Solomon has never fought the rival Queen first hand, he has no practical experience with her, but this still, mute girl who sits lame before him… this is not the Saya his brothers had warned him extensively about. This is not the Queen who took up arms against her own in the servitude of humanity.

Solomon’s thoughts fall back to Vietnam. To her rampage through the war zone, killing indiscriminately like she never had before. It had been described as a frenzy, like a shark drawn to blood. The Queen had paid her allies no more mind than she did the chiropteran she ran her blade through. They had _all_ been fodder.

Both Red Shield and Solomon’s brothers have speculated what exactly happened that night. No recognition for friend or foe.

_No recognition._

“Saya,” he says, walking calmly toward her, his hand shifting back to a more neutral state. “Do you know who I am?”

She does not answer, nor does she make to move as he draws nearer.

“My name is Solomon Goldsmith.”

Still nothing. That name alone should have roused Saya, his older brother having been a prominent figure in her life since birth. Solomon uses his clean hand to tentatively touch her cheek, rosy as it is from the cold. Saya’s eyes follow the movement, but she does nothing to stop him.

“I am your sister’s chevalier,” he tries instead. What should garner a violent reaction only draws a small, warm smile across delicate lips.

Brows furrowed, Solomon draws his hand back. Surprisingly, Saya reaches for it instantly, grabbing his wrist in a strong grip. The movement is not hostile, however, it seems only curious. He does not break the hold.

“Saya, can you speak for me?”

Silence is once again his only answer. The rival Queen brings his hand to her nose, delicate features scrunching as she sniffs him. He wonders what he smells like to her; something enticing, or something threatening? Alien, or familiar?

Solomon is startled from his thoughts at the feel of a warm tongue at the palm of his hand. The lick is kitten like, small and uncertain. It was curious to watch, a Queen chiropteran trying to navigate feeding with no apparent recollection of ever doing it before. She is like a baby trying to suckle for the first time, hungry but utterly clueless on how to satiate the urge.

The look of innocents, the earnestness about her, makes up Solomon’s mind for him. He cannot let her go hungry, even if that had been the original plan all along.

This is not the hostile Queen that has hunted them down for decades. This is something else entirely.

Solomon pulls his hand back from Saya. She makes a distressed noise at first, but quiets when she sees him seat himself down on the soaked, stone ground before her. The chevalier uses both his superior strength and Saya’s submissiveness to pull her into his lap like a child. Her eyes are wide and trusting, no hint of the predator he knows she is beneath the muddied crimson irises.

What have the humans done to her?

Cradled, knees tucked beneath her and back leaning lazily against his chest, Saya looks up at Solomon with another small smile. It is an expression he has never seen on a Queen’s face before, relaxed and utterly serene. It makes him pause, hesitate, and reconsider what he is about to do.

His thoughts are again disrupted, this time by a muted gurgling from Saya’s stomach. It startles the Queen, and she looks down with a confused expression. Can her mind truly be so blank that she cannot even recognize her body's needs?

Despite the seriousness of the situation, the comically distressed look Saya gives him over the matter has a chuckle escaping him, genuine and surprised.

“We can fix that,” he promises. “I’ll show you how.”

With Saya securely in his lap, he brings one of his own wrists to his mouth and bites, letting his fangs pierce the skin and draw blood. He brings the hand down to Saya, hovering at her mouth. She sniffs the bleeding wound, obviously curious but not quite getting the point. Saya looks from his wrist, to the dead human, and back up at Solomon with concern in her eyes.

 _You’re hurt,_ she seems to say without speaking a word.

“It’s okay,” Solomon soothes. “You can have it, I’m fine. I promise.”

The wound by now has healed, but Solomon is certain once Saya gets the taste for blood her instincts will take over. Still, Saya does not so much as lick his wrist. When the chevalier tries to bring his bloodied arm to her lips to smear the blood there, she panics at his insistence. Another distressed noise emanates from her throat and she shoves his hand away.

Suddenly she looks more like a frightened hare caught in a trap than a Queen of the chiropteran species.

Solomon draws back his arm, shushing her like he would have a child to sooth her nerves. Her lip wobbles, brows furrowed, eyes darting about the Shrine as though she were preparing to bolt. She wouldn’t get far, of course, but Solomon didn’t want things devolving to him having to manhandle her. Solomon gentles her with soft words, nonsensical in his mother tongue, and holds firm his loose embrace.

When Saya settles again, eyes dimming with uncertainty now, he decides to change tactics.

Solomon brings his wrist to his mouth again, biting through the skin. This time, however, he takes the blood into his own mouth. He uses one hand to brace the base of Saya’s neck, the bloodied hand he uses to turn her head towards him. Slowly, as to not startle her again, he brings their mouths together. At first it is just a gentle press of lips. This close, her scent is inescapable. The allure she has been unconsciously drawing him in with since Solomon first arrived at the Shrine is magnified as they breathed each other in.

 _Iron and rosewater._ That’s what she smells like, it only now being strong enough to truly distinguish. He wonders what she smelled on him.

Once Solomon is sure Saya does not feel threatened, he moves to deepen the kiss. Their lips press together and create a seal, the chevalier’s tongue pressing past Saya’s lips in a bid for her to open her mouth.

She does. Again, with all the trust of a child, Saya opens up to him. Solomon pushes as much of the blood as he can into her mouth. She makes a startled noise at first, but as the iron rich liquid settles across her tongue she moans instead. This is what Saya’s body has been craving since she first pulled herself from the cocoon, she just hadn’t known it.

A mouthful, of course, would not be enough to satisfy the Queen. Solomon moves to end the kiss, to give her access to his wrist again in trade, but as he pulls back Saya leaps at him, her fingers tangling in his hair to hold him in place. Solomon has no doubt that this is a bid for sustenance, utterly innocent and instinctual, but as Saya pushes her own tongue into his mouth, scraping teeth and gum and the roof of his mouth, he cannot help but be consumed by the eroticism of it.

_“Saya is our only viable mate.”_

Amshel’s voice echoes muted around Solomon’s thoughts as he carefully navigates what he is feeling. There is a simmer of arousal, nursed by the warmth of her tongue against his; the naked curves of her body pressing into him. Primal, with alll the innocents of a newborn.

With firm hands he pushes her back. Saya is panting, having barely remembered to breath in her fever. Her fangs are extended, face flushed with a _need_ bone deep to feed; her eyes, once a murky brown, glowed crimson as her senses honed themselves for a _hunt._ Everything working over time, from her sight to her _taste._

Eye Contact wavers, bright red breaking their stupor to instead focus at Solomon’s neck. He knows what she sees there, the rhythmic pulse of his heartbeat, visible against his skin both with her acute sight and how an adrenalin rush of being so close to Saya has made his heart palpitate. Before he can utter a word she latches her teeth into his neck.

He grunts with the initial sting of it, but there has always been a peculiar reaction when Diva drank his blood. It seems it was just a chevalier's reaction to a Queen chiropteran, as the same pleasurable warmth Solomon was accustomed to with his progenitor stems from each delicate fang piercing his flesh.

Even in this, with her instincts and the taste of blood guiding her, she fumbles like a foal. She suckls with the tenacity that would leave a bruise. Temporary, of course, for the chiverliar. Sloppy all the same. Blood slips past her lips and stains his shirt collar, smearing across her lips and chin.

Saya doesn’t drink much, as is expected. Diva never did when she first awoke either. The Queen’s appetit would grow as time passes and her metabolism stabilizes, but for now she would be sated for at least a few hours.

Saya pulls back, licking her lips to catch what she could. It was oddly endearing; innocent in a way Diva never has been with him. Solomon pulls a handkerchief from his breast pocket and cleans her lips and chin before attending to his own neck. The shirt would need to go to the cleaners, possibly a loss with how much has dripped from the wound.

Solomon wonders if the sloppiness came from her memory loss, or if Saya has ever been allowed to drink blood in such a manner. Perhaps her human handlers had forbade it.

Solomon stands, pulling Saya with him. She is wobbly on her legs, stiff from disuse, but after a few shaky steps she becomes more balanced. Curiosity takes hold now that her hunger has subsided, and the Queen turns her attention to the dead human. Solomon lets her wander, keeping a careful eye, while he pulls his cell phone from his inner pocket. Damp, but not enough to warrant concern.

“Is she awake?” Amshel inquires, answering on the first ring.

“Yes, Saya has come out of her hibernation.”

“And you were able to subdue her?”

“That,” Solomon hesitates for a moment. “That wasn’t necessary.”

Saya squats near the Red Shield agent, head cocked to one side, brows furrowed in deep thought. With so much of her memory gone, the chevalier wonders how her mind was coping with abstract thought. Could she process and _understand_ the man is dead?

“The situation is not what we thought,” Solomon went on. “I will meet you at the airport as planned. You’ll understand what I mean when you see her.”

Solomon knows his brother doesn’t like being out of the loop, waiting for answers. But the younger chevalier isn’t sure how to put what all just happened into words. It is all a little hard for him to believe, that the revenge-mad Queen was so docile, even with him having just bared his neck for her.

“Very well,” Amshel agrees, though his displeasure is clear in his tone. “I will see you there within the hour.”

Solomon puts his phone into his pants pocket then, removing his suit jacket to drape over Saya’s shoulders. It wouldn’t do much, not with how soaked the jacket is, but it would provide some modesty and warmth. He gathers Saya up in his arms, grip firm so she could not pull away. She would be too conspicuous for a cab, unfortunately. He’d have to rely on his abilities alone. Luckily, the airstrip is only a few miles from the Shrine.

He looks down at his charge, again startled to find such sincerity in the small upturn of lips. Eyes trusting, she stares up at him and waits. Letting whatever he is about to do happen. No resistance in a single inch of her body.

In a blur of motion Solomon makes for their flight. Saya does not fight, only hides her head in his chest from the wind. He couldn’t help but think bitterly if this is the same blind trust the humans took advantage of when they forged Saya into a war machine.

  


 

**Author's Note:**

> I have made this into a series in hopes that I will one day write more. I am not entirely sure yet, but we'll see.


End file.
